The Answer
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The AnswerIf it's a question, it is not the answer |
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Re: The AnswerThe answer can be cause by many questions |
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Re: The AnswerANSWERS |
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Re: The AnswerThank You, RH. I've been reading your work & admiring its depth for awhile now. I got the insight behind this poem from the Zen, "Who Am I" meditation, "not that...not That...not That...etc. etc." |
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Re: The Answer: my attemptThree Answers and a Mystery |
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Re: Re: The Answer: my attemptQuote:
Originally Posted by Paolo Three Answers and a Mystery Winters evil breath blew buckets of ice requiring my stern shoulder pushing against an eternity, then, Summer casts it’s vicious net, into shaded porches I carried his heat in damp cloths wrapped around my neck to keep as cool as permissible on long days too, I recall the falling leaves confetti for a cold parade some fall red, some yellow some not at all and wave brown greetings in the cold wind What has become of Spring? She came and went so softly Our combat boots obscured her footprints And the drum-rolls dimmed the zyphers Scented fragrance from the start. |
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Re: The Answerdevaamido, that was truly a fine answer. |
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Re: Re: The AnswerQuote: With three such beautiful stanzas as the ones you wrote, how dare I miss? Thank you! Paolo!! |
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Re: Re: The AnswerQuote: Originally Posted by RHPeat I with Paolo devaamido What has become of Spring? The only way to answer such a fine rhetorical statement is by a fine (4 line) metaphorical poem. It must be the language of the Gods. a poet friend RH Peat So, give it shot, my friend. You've got the floor. You're much better with Godly languages than I am. |
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Re: The AnswerSometimes the questions are more beautiful than the answers. I am sure that sometimes I do not want an answer when the search for them is far more exciting than the actual voyage to find them. |
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Re: Re: The AnswerQuote: Originally Posted by Paolo Sometimes the questions are more beautiful than the answers. I am sure that sometimes I do not want an answer when the search for them is far more exciting than the actual voyage to find them. AGREED!! |
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Re: The AnswerThe Wind |
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Re: Re: The AnswerQuote: Originally Posted by Paolo The Wind Is he as if a kite against the sky that cannot fly without a string or guy to keep the wing anchored to land send the spirit bold into wind--- Is he as if a sail spread on a ship slip through the sea from end to tip— destination carried on wind Oh steer the heart--- the rudder of him---- Maybe he’s a kite that cannot fly For he seems afraid of heights like you and I And if not secured could plummet from the sky When loosened from his tether he may die. Yet if he is like a sail upon a ship Is he free when he’s directed on a trip? Illusionary freedom sooths the heart But cannot give us freedom from the start. Willful lies and evil deeds Choose perdition’s devotees Paranoia and insanity Reward the devotees that please Four in numerology’s the number of the earth. Four choices we all make when taking human birth Insanity, death, enlightenment, but: Not to look and never try is far away the worst Last edited by devaamido 08-04-2009 at 02:59:34 PM |
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Re: The AnswerAh-but there are no answers if we dont first,search for questions. Last edited by Madelynn 08-01-2009 at 07:52:03 PM |
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Re: Re: The AnswerQuote: Originally Posted by RHPeat What has Spring become? She came and went too softly; she became that flower that could not be; with her blossoms spent, she left a dreaming seed as a footprint inside her wilted petal’s bowl. Summer now beats a withered drum roll that rattles for what could not stay. The stem of fife is slowly blown away inside this day’s heated sunlight. So, we must wait for her fragrant allure to reoccur past our sight. We trust to get a glance held in next year’s far circumstance. © RH Peat 8/1/09 12:27pm form: 15, 7 syllable lines with internal rhymes. Challenge; if it’s a question, It’s not the answer. Hello Peat I knew that we Just could always count on you. Iambic pentameters Are not in my cup of juice So teach me and I’ll thank you I count on in my inning Putting arrows through your heart End line rhymes from Valentines When sharing with some caring Rends you tender to my dart. This pass-time of fifteen lines Three stanzas each, five more times, And seven syllables each Feels more like something ted’ous Than it is beyond my reach This has been gettin' a bit like a stag party. Let's welcome the LADY, guys. Last edited by devaamido 08-01-2009 at 08:21:05 PM |
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
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